Largo do
Boticario, Cosme Velho, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
The largo was
the most beautiful place I had ever experienced.
I had an introduction to the Irish Brazilian
Rosanne Somers who lived in a colonial house to
the left of the top of the square. Her house also
doubled up as a antique shop. Everything she’s
sat on was for sale. I recall sitting beside her
estranged husband John, who was in bed with an
infected leg, when the door opened and in walked
Rosanne with a potential client for the bed!
The year was 1970 and I was made very welcome.
Rosanne ‘s was an international hub for
travellers passing through Rio. She was generous
and abundant with a sense of humour.
Her lover was a moody Frenchman called Henri who
seemed to be convivial with John. Henri paid for
her son’s education at an international
school in Rio.
I was a frequent guest and also got to know the
well known artist Augusto Rodrigues who was her
neighbour to the right of the largo.
Finally my friend Barbara Costa who I met when I
worked as an English language teacher at Chirity’s
language school, had an affair with the son of
the owner of the middle house at the top of the
largo. Through me she of course met Rosanne.
I left Rio and went to my dream destination, the
Afro-Brazilian city of Salvador. When I returned,
three months later, I had nowhere to stay and so
the generous Rosanne stepped in and offered me a
bedroom.
This was the end of my trip and I learnt through
Barbara that Rosanne had harboured her political
friend by hiding him somewhere in her big
Colonial house.
I recall it was so hot that I slept au natural
but I woke up shivering. My bed was floating. The
rain was cascading onto my Chico Buarque LPs and
the clothes in my open suitcase. I recall Rosanne
had to put the heating on specifically to dry my
wet clothes.
Water was cascading down the stairs. I was
shivering and had to get dressed. I remember
peeping in to tell Rosanne but she was fast
asleep entwined with Henri. The flood got into
the newspaper as cars on Cosme Velho were washed
away.
I went back to my London flat not having a reason
to stay longer. About a week later Barbara wrote
to
me that ‘our friend Rosanne is no more’.
She had been murdered. Drowned in her bath and
made to look like suicide. Barbara had left some
English books at her house and went to the largo
to collect them. She found the house full of
police and was told in a threatening tone not to
ask any questions. Just take her books and go.
That’s Brazil for you. A mysterious death of
a lovely full of life lady who had everything to
live for.
Written
6/1/24 at Nightingale.
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